Puppet Master
by TheYmp
Summary: Jody needs help with a hunt, but the Winchesters are tied up, so they send Garth. And Mr. Fizzles. Written for the 2016 SPN-SummerGen on LiveJournal. Warnings: crack!fic / minor character death.


**Disclaimer: I don't own** **_Supernatural_** **or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

 **Written for the 2016 SPN-SummerGen on LiveJournal. The prompt was:** ** _"Jody needs help with a hunt, but the Winchesters are tied up, so they send Garth to help her. And Mr. Fizzles."_** **Warnings: crack!fic / minor character death.**

~#~

 **Puppet Master**

 ** _"Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings. Twisting your mind, smashing your dreams" – 'Master of Puppets', Metallica_**

Sheriff Jody Mills stared down at the twisted body of the man splayed out in front of her while her deputies taped-off the crime scene. Recognizing the victim as Joel McCreedy-the retired grade school teacher who was the sole reason she'd managed to get through Trig as a young teen-she tried to focus on cataloguing an impersonal description of the injuries.

It was no good. She had to turn away from the strange parody of a smile that, even in death, warped his face almost into unrecognition.

It was the third such death in just two short weeks and the same location each time. She had no doubt that the coroner's report would once more confirm the same cause of death: exhaustion. The buildup of lactic acid in his muscles would indicate that he'd been physically active for hours before his death. How and why a man in his seventies would break into a community center to dance himself to death was beyond her. It just wasn't natural.

 _Of course_. Her eyes roamed around the familiar, slightly shabby, community hall's interior without really taking in her surroundings. "Something's rotten in the state of Denmark," she muttered, thinking back to the last performance the amateur dramatics' society had put on.

She chewed on her lower lip as she scrolled through the contacts on her cell phone. She hated asking for help at the best of times. It was _her_ duty to protect people and she was damn good at her job. _Usually_. She sighed in resignation. So she tried to reassure herself that there was no shame in calling in the specialists, even if it might be nothing.

She glanced down at the rictus grin stretched across Mr. McCreedy's face and shuddered. That was definitely _something_.

Jody finally located the 'sweet boys' contact entry that she used to disguise the Winchesters' identity. Expecting to have to leave a voicemail, she was surprised when Sam picked up and gave a delighted greeting before moving onto business.

"The body count around here is starting to rack up and I could really use some backup from someone in the know. Y'know?"

Sam snorted. "I know." There was a pause followed by a muffled thump. "Hold on, Jody. I'm just putting you on speaker."

It sounded like Sam had fumbled the phone and there was a faint cry she could have sworn sounded like "damn, its tentacles keep growing back."

"Hey, Jody," called Dean, sounding a little breathless and distracted.

"It's got me by the ankle," yelped Sam, his voice rising in panic.

"Hello? Sam, are you okay?" Jody called down the phone, worried by the obviously sounds of fighting.

There was a shrill inhuman screeching and she could just make out Dean yelling "I think we've got it on the run, Sammy," before said brother came back on the phone.

"Er, Jody, we've kinda got our hands full at the moment," panted Sam.

"Don't worry, I know a guy," hollered Dean, sounding close to the phone again. "I'm just texting him your details now."

"Dean! It just went up my pant leg. Get it off! Get it off!" shrieked Sam.

There was an almighty roar; Jody couldn't tell if it was Dean's mama-bear bellow of protection over his brother, or whatever the presumably still-tentacled beast was they were fighting. The phone beeped three times and the connection cut off.

Jody narrowed her eyes at her cell phone and sent a little prayer in their direction. She wasn't sure if help was on its way or not, but she decided she wasn't going to ring back for a while.

~#~

Jody was making a vain attempt at some kind of meaningful progress with the mound of paperwork on her desk, when she was distracted by a hovering figure in the corner of her peripheral vision. She glanced up and took a double-take at the scrawny-looking young man in an ill-fitting sailor suit. He looked all of 90lbs when wet and was staring at her expectantly.

"Who the blazes are you?" she demanded. She really wasn't in the mood for someone trying to sell her encyclopedias or whatever nonsense he was peddling.

"I'm Garth Fitzgerald IV," he announced as if expecting a fanfare. The patented Sheriff Mills glare, which had reduced many a disorganized deputy to incoherent blubbing, seemed to have no effect and the man gave a wide grin as he calmly clarified: "The Winchesters sent me."

" _You_ know the Winchesters?"

"Sure do. We're tight; sometimes I even let Dean join me in a hunt when he's at a loose end."

" _You_ let _Dean Winchester_ join _you_ in a hunt?"

"Word up, sister. I've helped him and his brother both a coupla times or three when they're in a jam."

" _The_ Dean Winchester."

"Yes ma'am. You know, the short one?" He gave a quick look left and right to ensure he wasn't being overheard, and leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "Gives the _best_ hugs. Let me tell you, he might be all _grr-argh_ on the outside, but he's just a big soppy ball of marshmallowy goodness on the inside."

Jody paused and considered for a moment. "Yeah, that's actually a pretty good description."

"So, how about you take me on the $10 tour of the crime scene," said Garth, his broad, easy grin somehow managing to stretch even further.

"Dressed like that?" asked Jody, pointing at his outfit. She couldn't have raised her eyebrows more if she'd tried.

Garth seemed surprised and looked down at his attire and back at Jody in confusion. "Do you have a problem with the US Navy?" he asked, in astounded incomprehension.

"Not at all," Jody denied calmly. "It's just what with this state being landlocked, there's not much call for them here."

"But Sioux Falls has a memorial to the USS South Dakota!" Garth argued. He sighed in the face of Jody's stony glare. "I'll go change," he huffed, his shoulders slumping.

"Atta boy," smiled Jody, wondering if he'd manage to be any less convincing as an FBI agent.

~#~

Cop habits borne from years of experience made Jody pause outside Garth's motel room, her hand raised ready to knock on the door. She tilted her right ear towards the sounds of conversational flow. From the tone it was a little heated but too indistinct to make out the words.

Realizing she was effectively eavesdropping on her new partner she rapped quickly on the door. The conversation within came to a sudden halt and a moment later Garth opened the door to her.

"See, that's better," she said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice at the sight of Garth tugging mournfully at the sleeves of the cheap, ill-fitting suit he was wearing.

"I call shotgun," he declared, seeming to brighten at her words.

Jody rolled her eyes. "First, there's just the two of us anyway," she said, reaching out and pulling his collar straight before she'd realized what she was doing. "And second, it's just down and across the street a little ways," she continued in studied indifference, determined not to submit to the temptation to wet a hand and attempt to flatten down his unruly hair.

They walked in silence for the brief time it took to cover the short distance to the community hall.

"So, _all_ the victims were found here?" asked Garth, ducking under the police tape, lifting it to allow Jody to pass under.

Jody nodded in both agreement and thanks, holding the door of the destination open for him in return. "It's a pretty popular meeting spot, plus we've got youth clubs and there's a seniors' group..."

Garth seemed distracted by a nearby notice board; it was the first time Jody had seen him with an expression that could even be described as _approaching_ serious.

"So what d'you think?" asked Jody, unable to smooth the sharp edge out of her tone. She sighed and let her shoulders slump when he didn't answer. _What was Dean playing at sending this joker? If he couldn't, or wouldn't, help he should have just said so._ She was about to repeat the question when Garth darted forward so suddenly it made her start.

She watched bemused, as he knelt beside the stacked plastic chairs that lined the walls and retrieved something from the dusty corner of the room. He stood in one ungainly motion that seemed to involve the movement of all his limbs and held out an outstretched hand.

Despite herself, Jody couldn't resist but move in for a closer look. In the center of his palm lay a single, unremarkable, large, black button. Confused, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I think I would like to see the body of the most recent victim now," Garth interrupted, finally answering her original question.

Jody closed her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. She mentally willed herself not grind them. "Of course, this way," she grimaced. _This guy had better be worth it, Winchester._

 _~#~_

"I can sense you're troubled," said Garth as they stood over the waiting, still-shrouded body of Mr. McCreedy.

Jody fumbled the zipper and looked up, startled. "I knew the victim," she admitted. "He was a good man. He used to be my grade school math teacher and always went the extra mile for me."

"Teachers have such an impact on young hearts and minds," smiled Garth. "They make us who we are today."

Jody nodded, thinking of all the additional tutoring and encouragement she'd received.

"I had a science teacher, Mr. Potts, who liked to tell me how I'd never amount to anything," said Garth, his tone matter-of-fact. "Now _there's_ an incentive," he added with a wink as pulled open the body bag.

"Yikes," he exclaimed, jumping back, recoiling, as he got his first sight of the victim "I'm assuming he didn't always look like this?"

Jody didn't bother to dignify that with a reply.

His face turning serious for a brief moment, Garth pulled on a pair of latex gloves seeming to draw deep satisfaction from the loud snap each one made. Focusing back on the victim, he spent several minutes examining each hand, paying closer attention to the one on the right.

"See anything?" asked Jody.

Garth pointed to the corpse's right hand. "See how the hand there is still in position?"

"Like a claw," agreed Jody, taking a closer look.

"Or a crocodile," beamed Garth, making a snapping motion with his hand.

He pulled off the gloves, clearly pleased once more by the noise each made, and balled them up before throwing his makeshift missile at the trash can in the corner, missing his target wildly. He walked across the room and bent down to retrieve the unravelling gloves, before dropping them into the garbage and returning Jody's arched look with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "One day I'll get it," he explained.

"If we could _try_ to focus on the task at hand," growled Jody. She was sure she was going to end up cracking another molar from all the teeth grinding she'd been doing.

"At hand, yes you've got it," said Garth cheerfully. "There was an advertisement in the community center for a puppet museum."

Jody raised her eyebrows in surprise. She was aware of the place; it had always been there, an odd eccentricity that she, like many of the other local inhabitants, had never quite got around to visiting. The mystery of such places was not so much why they were there, but more how they managed to eke out a living given their apparent lack of paying visitors.

"The eye-like button and then the shape of the victims' hands," Garth prompted. "It's an obvious next step."

"Obviously," agreed Jody with maybe just a hint of disbelief. "Listen, I've a got a stack of other work to catch up on, can you meet me at the station in the morning and we'll check it out together?"

"No problem."

Biting her lip, Jody gave him an uncertain look. "You sure you'll be okay, you know where you're going?"

"Sure thing, Sheriff. It's not my first time here in Sioux Falls; I dropped in on Bobby more than a couple of times over the years."

The reminder of the shared connection softened her to him. He was a little odd- _okay, a lot odd_ -but he seemed to come recommended. And while his methods might be unconventional, he did seem to be making some progress.

"In fact, it's time you met my partner," added Garth, his hands stuffed in his pockets while he shifted his weight repeatedly from one foot to another.

"I didn't realize there was anyone with you," Jody lied smoothly, her mind jumping back to her suspicions regarding the conversation she'd overheard outside his motel room.

"He's always with me," said Garth in a soft voice, a shy expression on his face.

Jody wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't the sudden appearance of a sock puppet on the young hunter's hand.

"Mr. Fizzles," said Garth, inclining his head to the puppet in a respectful tone. "Meet Sheriff Mills," he added, gesturing to Jody with his free hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sheriff" said Garth in screeching falsetto voice. Or rather, Jody assumed it was Garth as his lips didn't appear to move. _No stop it, not everything is supernatural_ , she scolded herself. _The obvious answer is still the most likely. He's clearly a brilliant ventriloquist._ Although there was something very unsettling about the whole scene.

She stared, her mind racing and she was too stunned to speak at first. When she did, the question bubbled up unbidden from her lips. "Where the Hell did you hide that?"

"Girl, you don't wanna know," cackled Mr. Fizzles.

~#~

Later, with Jody back in the relative safety of her home, she called the Winchesters from her phone. She decided that with the day she'd had, she was willing to risk the chance they'd again be in the middle of some kind of surreal battle.

"Did you know about the damn puppet?" she demanded, getting down to business before Dean had barely answered.

"Ahh," said Dean. "Hold on, speak to Sam," he added hurriedly, ignoring her protests.

Jody exchanged greetings with the young man. "Where does he even keep the thing when he's not using it?" she sighed.

Sam laughed. "I asked Dean once... he said he's not prepared to talk about it."

As if on cue, Jody could just make out Dean's rough rumble of a voice rise an octave or two in distress.

"I'm gonna hafta go," shouted Sam. "Dean's being dive-bombed by a vampire parrot."

~#~

"Sam and Dean say 'hi'," said Jody, looking up from her stack of reports as Garth wandered into her office the next morning.

"Those guys!" laughed Garth with a dreamy smile. "What are they working on right now?"

"I probably misheard, but I think Sam said it was a _vampire parrot._ "

"Ooh, a _vamparrot_. Nasty. The trick's to distract them with some Swedish paltbröd - dried is best, if you can get it."

Jody blinked while it felt like her brain was rebooting. Given the way events seemed to become increasingly surreal with each call, there was no way she was speaking to the Winchesters on the phone ever again. "I'll send them a text," she resolved at last.

~#~

The puppet museum was everything Jody could have imagined such a place would be: dark, dusty and disturbing. The same could also be said of the proprietor: a goatee-wearing, dark-haired man with a supercilious manner. There was another word starting with 'D' that Jody could think of to describe him, but it was still early in the day and she liked to at least make the pretense that she was a lady.

"We're not open yet," declared the man, sneering down his nose at them.

"Well, I've a couple of questions to ask you-" Jody started to respond.

"I'm too busy to be answering questions," laughed the man, without an ounce of actual humor.

Garth held up his badge. "The FBI thanks you for your time. Mr..?"

The man took several long insulting minutes to look Garth up and down. "Nathrach. Neil Nathrach. It's certainly good to know my tax dollars are being put to such good use," he said in a biting tone. He took a closer look at Garth. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so," stammered Garth, managing to look instantly shifty.

"All right, you two," interrupted Jody. "Enough of the macho posturing; you can measure 'em later. For now, what can you tell us about Joel McCreedy?"

"That old hack," spat Nathrach. "He wanted to use our puppets for some ridiculous stage show."

"I take it you said no," said Jody.

"Of course," Nathrach sneered. "Many of our exhibits are of great historic, ritual and cultural importance."

"Can I take that that heated words were exchanged?"

"He turned up here with two other of his amateur dramatic cronies. I noticed this morning that several items from our private collection were missing." He sniffed and peered down his nose at Jody insultingly. "You should be arresting him or giving out parking tickets or something, not bothering me."

"Given that I hate writing tickets, and Mr. McCreedy and his friends are dead, I'll have to console myself with arresting you instead," said Jody with a tight smile.

Nathrach puffed up in indignation. "We are a long term beneficiary of Sioux Falls Art Council funding and a Mayor's award recipient. We have friends in _very_ high places, you'll regret this."

"I'll take my chances," smiled Jody, thinking that her day had finally taken an upturn.

~#~

Garth looked up as Jody stalked out of the interrogation room.

"Well, I've tried _everything_. Apart from an annoying tendency to talk about himself in the third person, _nada_ ," sighed Jody, trying to rub some of the tension from her neck. She gave a brief squawk of alarm when Garth unexpectedly started massaging her shoulders, before relaxing into. _Actually, 'relaxing into it' seems the best way to deal with Garth_ , she considered.

"Thank you," she added, stepping away a little to try to regain some professional decorum. "On the plus side, he did waive his right to a lawyer."

They shared a look. " _Idjit_ ," they declared in unison and laughed.

Garth stretched, cracking the joints in his knuckles. "How's 'bout you let me see if I can't make this caged bird sing."

"Be my guest," replied Jody, moving to the door and letting him in.

~#~

"Ah, Mr. Nathrach, still with us I see," said Garth in polite greeting as he sat down opposite the museum owner.

Nathrach's only response was to curl his lip. The two men sat staring each other until the prisoner started to tap impatiently on the table top. "I don't know why you're holding me here, _I've_ done nothing wrong."

"You seem like a reasonable man. See, _me_ , I'd believe you, but my partner's not so easily persuaded."

"What the _lady cop_ over there?" snorted Nathrach, making the term sound like the vilest of insults.

Jody bristled but said nothing, although she itched to try a bit of that police brutality she'd read about.

"No, you've not met my partner yet," said Garth in a mild tone as he reached into an inside pocket of his suit jacket and in an instant _it_ was there. "Meet Mr. Fizzles," Garth announced, his joy clear both in his voice and the expression on his face.

"Is this some kind of joke?" asked Nathrach, getting to his feet, his face twisted in rage.

"Sit your ass down." The shrill falsetto was shockingly loud in the confines of the interrogation room and without conscious thought the prisoner dropped back to his seat.

Garth arranged himself more comfortably in his seat. "Good. Mr. Fizzles doesn't like it when people don't do as they're told."

"Mr. Fizzles also doesn't like big, fat liars and you're a big, fat li-ar!" The puppet stretched the words out in its high-pitched, sing-song voice.

"I'm not telling you anything," Nathrach cried, looking between Garth and Jody and starting to seem discomforted.

"Talk to _me_ , bozo," the puppet shrieked.

There was a knock on the door and one of the deputies put his head in the room and called for the Sheriff. Jody went to investigate.

"Hey, you're not going to leave me with this nutcase, are you?" Nathrach begged, starting to sound a little panicked.

Jody gave a wide grin that made no attempt to reach her eyes. "It looks like he's got this under control and... what was it you said earlier? Oh yeah, I ought to be out ticketing cars or something." To be honest she was glad for the excuse to leave, but the man's distraught wail was like music to her ears.

~#~

Jody caught up with Garth once she'd dealt with her deputy's minor emergency. She blinked in the face of the bizarre explanation. "So how'd we end up with a haunted puppet theatre as a tourist attraction?"

"Well, I guess it makes a change from one of those giant balls of twine," shrugged Garth. He reddened under Jody's significant look and amended his answer. "It seems that our Mr. Nathrach's been worshipping Glycon, some ol' snake-headed puppet god. Or that might be a puppet-headed snake god... he was a little vague on that point."

" _Nice_. I'm just amazed that it was here right under our eyes the whole time. I mean how come Bobby never came across it?"

Garth smiled. "Yeah, but it's not exactly the kind of place Bobby would've gone. For a start it doesn't even have a licensed bar."

Jody had a sudden thought. "So did _it_ come from there too?" she accused, her narrowed eyes figuratively pinning Garth in place.

"What?" asked Garth in an unconvincing attempt to pretend he didn't understand her meaning.

"Your puppet."

"What... Mr. Fizzles?" he answered, practically batting his eyelashes in an attempt at innocence.

"Uh huh."

Garth fidgeted in his seat. "Yeah, from the puppet museum last time I was in town," he muttered

"You stole him?"

Garth winced at the shrill note in Jody's voice. "No! No, I'd say it was more like he chose me. We make a great team. He has a real way with people."

" _Right_ ," said Jody, not sounding convinced. "So he's not going to make us dance to death and turn us into puppets too, like the other ones did?"

"No! Mr. Fizzles got away from them before they could twist him into something evil – he's on our side."

"So why's he only helping now?" asked Jody accusingly.

Garth looked at her in astonishment. "If you were horribly murdered and _your_ soul trapped in a glove puppet as a slave for snake god, wouldn't you be a little traumatized by the experience?"

"I guess," Jody admitted, shamefaced. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. "So what's out next step?"

" _Finally!_ " declared Mr. Fizzles from the depths of Garth's pocket. In a motion too fast to register by the human eye he was on Garth's hand. "Let's go get that ancient Greek bastard!"

~#~

The puppet museum was even less inviting at night and an ominous air of foreboding hung over the building. Jody was in the midst of contemplating how the dark windows reflecting the gray skies above looked like eyes when suddenly all of the lights came on in one dazzling burst.

Jody's hand instinctively strayed down to rest on the gun in her holster. "Looks like we're expected then," she quipped. "Wouldn't want to turn up unannounced for the murderous snake god."

She took a moment to collect her thoughts then turned and shared a nod of readiness with Garth before letting them into the building.

"He's gotta be in here somewhere," said Garth, as they searched through the long corridors and oddly shaped rooms of the museum.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll come up when we're not ready for him," answered Jody.

As if on cue, a long human-sized serpent twisted its way out from behind an-only relatively less creepy-arrangement of ventriloquist dummies. The giant serpent's head was topped with an incongruous mane of long flowing hair and its eyes blazed a sickly neon green. "You will all dance for me," it hissed.

Jody found herself drawn deeper and deeper into the creature's unholy gaze and a fog started to descend over her mind. She watched, almost disinterestedly, as Garth threw himself against the ophidian god and was himself flung back across the length of the room, knocking over a display case of shadow puppets.

Something landed at Jody's feet and the haze over her mind cleared just long enough for her to bend and retrieve whatever it was.

 _Hello, Sheriff Mills_ , spoke Mr. Fizzles' voice in her head. Somehow the shrill, usually strident, voice of the puppet now almost sounded soothing to her. Without conscious thought she slipped the puppet over her hand-or it might have been that the puppet slid _itself_ over her hand-and her mind was instantly clear.

Reaching into her jacket pocket with her other hand, Jody pulled out the bag of pungent-smelling, spherical white balls she'd prepared earlier. She flung them at Glycon and watched in satisfaction as the god shrank back from the ad-hoc missiles, its flesh seeming to burn at their touch. Being a traditionalist, Jody also emptied a clips' worth of bullets into the creature for good measure.

She turned and ran to Garth, relieved to find that his injuries didn't seem to amount to more than a couple of minor cuts and bruises. She pulled him to his feet and as she did so, Mr. Fizzles was somehow back on Garth's hand where he belonged.

"He'll be back," warned the puppet. "And you have to set them _all_ free," he added, he's head turning to and fro to look at the other puppets staring out from their displays. They might not have spoken or moved, but there was still a preternatural sense of many, many _someones_ trapped behind the rows of glass and button eyes.

Jody and Garth nodded, and as they fled, match after lighted match littered their route to the exit.

~#~

The three of them stood and watched the puppet theatre burn. Every once in a while a little burst of light escaped the conflagration and flew up to the heavens with a cry of release as another soul was freed from its puppet prison.

"If the economic climate ever improves, do you think we'll start to see a drop in businesses reliant of ancient gods for financial survival?" pondered Garth.

Jody looked at him askance. "We will if we burn them all down," she added.

Garth nodded his approval. "So what was that you threw at him?" he asked.

"Mothballs."

"I wondered why you stopped off in that Walmart earlier. What made you think of that?"

Jody gave a wicked grin. "It must be Sam's influence; I looked it up on the internet. Wikipedia said it wasn't effective, but I thought I'd give it a go anyway."

The stood for a while longer until the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. Mr. Fizzles turned to look a Garth. "My work here is done, it's time I left too."

"No, Mr. Fizzles! You can't leave me," gasped Garth.

Mr. Fizzles shook his head. "You know what happens to trapped spirits. I need to go into the fire, before I turn evil too."

Tears running down his face, Garth nodded reluctantly and lowered his hand to the ground. Mr. Fizzles slid from Garth's grip and slithered across the ground before disappearing into the flames.

"Lead them into the light, Mr. Fizzles, lead them into the light!" shouted Garth, as Jody wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders and gently led him away from the blazing building.

"Oh, I'm gonna miss him so much!" Garth sobbed. "How will I manage without him?"

"He'll always be with you," said Jody, pausing to pull the hunter into a hug. "A wise man once told me that it's the people that teach us that make us who we are today."

"Was that me?" Garth asked with a shy, hopeful smile.

Jody exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. "Yes, Garth. It was you!"

The sirens sounded nearer, so Jody moved them on to save the difficulty of explaining their presence at the scene. In no time at all they were back outside Garth's motel.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, giving Garth another hug.

Garth snuffled and wiped his nose on the back of hand. He stared at it for a moment, clearly remembering it for the hand that Mr. Fizzles always seemed to use. "I'll be okay," he sighed and nodded. "I just need to keep busy. I heard there's a werewolf problem over in Wisconsin, perhaps I'll head there next."

"Need some help?" asked Jody, somewhat relieved when he shook his head.

"No, I'm good," he said, leaning in for another, longer hug. "And besides, after all this really how difficult can it be?"

~#~

 **THE END**

(;,;)


End file.
